


The (Belated) Halloween Disaster

by aprilwinks (sleepysauce), KaisaSolstys, thecockroach



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Halloween, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27771196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepysauce/pseuds/aprilwinks, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaisaSolstys/pseuds/KaisaSolstys, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecockroach/pseuds/thecockroach
Summary: The Phantom Troupe decided to crash a party. Chrollo is not too smooth with his approach. (belated Halloween fic)What is this? NOT PLOT.A group effort made by the KuroKura Discord chat. Created on Halloween day... posted a month late by yours truly (Sorry).But,what is this?you ask. Well, the best way I can describe this is fun blasting party over on a discord chat, and various prompts, as well as a prompt list provided by the Brilliant Seiyuna over on Twitter, this Was Born!!
Relationships: Kurapika/Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer
Comments: 2
Kudos: 54





	1. The Set Up (Frat Party AU)

**Author's Note:**

> Roster:  
> Luna999  
> Thwipp  
> Chocoholic221B  
> Lua  
> thecockroach  
> Mskl  
> aprilwinks (sleepysauce)
> 
> editor:  
> KaisaSolstys

_Why the hell did Chrollo think this would work. Though, actually…_

When Phinks had first approached him with this oh-so grand plan to do a thirteen-person group Halloween costume a month ago, Chrollo had simply nodded and smiled, before turning back to his book. Unfortunately, Phinks had appeared to have taken that as the go-ahead signal, instead of the kindly disinterested refusal it actually was, and went and bought them all costumes.

Which brought them to the now: it was currently one week out from Halloween. And to Chrollo’s horror, Phinks stormed into the Troupe’s warehouse, arms laden with shopping bags. He grinned as he rifled through the bags and proceeded to hand out costumes to the rest of the group. 

The reactions were mixed. 

Shizuku looked tentatively excited. Kortopi’s eyes were shining behind his curtain of silver hair. Meanwhile, Uvo looked ready to don any costume, no matter how ridiculous, and party the night away. On the other hand, Nobunaga looked quite ready to set his costume on fire with his fancy silver lighter he had snatched off some old business tycoon. Similarly, Machi looked disgusted, and honestly, Chrollo quite agreed with her on this point.

He had already planned to stay in.

There was a heavy book sitting on his bedside table, and a cup of coffee with his name on it. That’s what he wanted. A nice quiet night in, perhaps ducking out to share one (1) beer with his friends, before retreating back into his room to bask in solitude. 

And to be frank, the costumes were terrible.

Abysmal.

Just plain ugly. 

“I’m not wearing this.” Franklin said, deadpan. In his arms was what were clearly shoulder pads and a red jumpsuit.

Ahhh, ever the voice of reason. 

Phinks’ shoulders sagged, “Awww, c’mon, Franklin, we’re the Twelve Zodiacs!” 

“There’s thirteen of us, dumbass.” Nobunaga spat, tossing aside his Horse costume with disgust. 

“Yeah, Kortopi is Beans!” 

At being mentioned, Kortopi jumped in the air, twirling around to show off his Beans-style suit. To be fair, he looked very, very cute. But as Chrollo considered the Cow costume he had just been handed - it was not cute enough to justify wearing this monstrosity.

No. This was most definitely _not_ happening. 

And it seemed some of the others were on his side. Notably, Feitan looked ready to scream, positively seething at being handed the Rooster costume, which was nothing more than a scanty bikini and a few feathers. Chrollo bit back a shudder, grateful that no one had thought to pass that to him instead. 

Nobunaga handed Feitan his lighter with a grim nod. They shared a look.

In the end, the costumes were all burned to a crisp. The scent of burning fibres gathered thickly in the air, making them all cover their noses and mouths. And Phinks was inconsolable, crying on the floor whilst the others awkwardly avoided eye-contact. Kortopi, still in his Beans costume (for only a monster would take that joy away from him. Even the Troupe had standards sometimes), patted him on the shoulder. 

Chrollo bit back a sigh of relief. Finally. Crisis avoided, save for Phinks’ tears, but that was a sacrifice he was willing to make. 

Now, back to his book. 

\--*

Chrollo should have known better than to let down his guard.

There was a reason Phinks was a Spider. One of those reasons was his raw persistence. In this instance, dragging everyone, including Chrollo himself, out to this godforsaken Halloween soiree. Brooding in the car the whole way there, Chrollo mourned his quiet night in, thinking of the stack of books on his bedside table and the Kakin coffee beans he had stolen only a few weeks ago, which made for a most decadent brew. 

It looked like he would have to wait for his perfect night another time. 

Instead, he was stuck here at this rather lacklustre party, watching other people have fun. Chrollo did not dance. That was not something he did. Ever. He did not mind an occasional drink, and it was because of that, and that alone, that he had not just thrown up his hands and left already. The beer he was nursing in his hand did not taste all that good, but it certainly took the edge off of what was quickly turning into a horrible, horrible night. 

At the very least, Phinks had not managed to convince any of them on the costume idea, and Chrollo was simply wearing his usual attire, not even bothering to throw on a shirt for this sad excuse for a party. Of course, his idea of a party was a platter of cheese and biscuits, a fine vintage, and a good book, and of course, solitude, which rather contradicted the very point of a party in the first place. 

He hunched further into his coat, despite the rapidly rising temperature, if only because of the cool air brushing against his naked chest.   
  
  


\---

_Kurapika honestly didn’t know what he expected when he opened the door._

What he hadn’t expected were the faces of his worst enemies. To think, all twelve of them had thought it wise to show up at Leorio’s doorstep. Did they think he wouldn’t recognize them in their costumes, or were they just that foolish?

“Oh. It’s you,” said Chrollo, sounding like he’d just wandered into a minor inconvenience, a small bump in the road. He wore a blue military uniform, the hem of his jacket lined with silver, and his cape with gold. Every button was polished to a winking gleam. His friends had put on similar uniforms.

He considered shutting the door but relented when he heard Leorio’s familiar footfalls approaching him. Leorio placed a fake paw on his shoulder and pulled him away from the door. 

“Hey, glad you could make it,” Leorio told them, a wide grin on his face. He sounded friendly, cordial, but surely that was impossible. Leorio couldn’t possibly be friends with this lot. Kurapika had never even seen them talk before. Then again, Machi and Leorio worked in the same surgical department. Could they have dragged him into their little group without Kurapika knowing?

Leorio held Kurapika off to the side as all twelve of the vile creatures entered their home. Well, technically Leorio’s home, since he had inherited it from an old friend, but it was too large to live in alone.

He waited for them to disappear into the living room with its booming music, and then turned on his best friend. “You’d better have a good explanation for this.”

Leorio held up his hands in an attempt to placate him. “I do.”

Kurapika crossed his arms. “I’m listening.” 

“Well.” Leorio rubbed at the back of his neck. “You and Chrollo have been fighting ever since you were kids.” 

“That’s putting things lightly. He’s been sabotaging me since we were four.” 

“He gave you lucky charms instead of fruity pebbles during lunch,” Leorio mumbled. “I can’t believe you still remember that.”

Kurapika scoffed. “How could I forget? It was the beginning of his campaign against me. He takes everything from me, everything he’s able to get his hands on.”

“Have you ever even had a normal conversation with him?” 

“No? Why would I have to?”

“I think it might clear a few things up between the two of you, that’s all,” Leorio said.


	2. Halloween Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Time-loop AU we all want and never asked for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnnnnd we continue the madness with a Time-Loop AU!   
> The combine efforts of various talented authors, have created this wonderful horror to horrify you!

_ The night is still young, there’s still time. _

Halloween. The kids wanted to go to Halloween but Kurapika had no idea what that holiday was. It was apparently the one day in the year where people dressed up in costume, walking around with plastic buckets that looked like pumpkins, scary, poorly carved faces on said pumpkins and knocked on stranger’s houses to ask them for candy. Not that candy was healthy for either of them regardless of their activity level, and the sheer amount of chocorobo Killua was consuming was concerning… but knocking on stranger’s houses was a set up for disaster. Any one of these people could be another Hisoka living in there. Just the thought gave him the shivers, no wonder it was such a scary holiday.

The crowds were mild in this city as there weren’t that many kids here. Not that Killua or Gon needed his protection anyway, they weren’t his kids but he felt protective over them nonetheless. Leorio felt the same, that’s why he was dressed up as well, trying to scare the passerby and then falling on his ass. Killua pointed and laughed and Gon’s “are you okay” were the only sounds he paid attention to while he focused on finding the party they were supposed to be going to.

They were invited by Leorio’s friend from work, and Kurapika was already greatly regretting going with his friends, but he couldn’t leave Killua and Gon unattended (Leorio didn’t count).

It was the moment he stepped into the party that he really regretted. 

Bodies. Bodies everywhere. 

Dancing like this was scary in itself. The massive crowd of dancing bodies undulating like a large sea creature. But more importantly, this wasn't something he could take Gon and Killua to. 

Of course, Leorio jumps right in. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Kurapika grabs the furthest edge of his dirty nurse costume - _ shudder _ \- and yanks Leorio back into reality. 

“Teaching the greatness of adulthood- ow!”

Kurapika hissed past the thumping bass. “This isn’t something to take kids to!”

“You know as well as I know that they aren’t kids… besides, don’t worry, I’ll be there to make sure no one kidnaps them.” At that moment Leorio shoots finger-guns at him -that was what convinced him to step into the damn thing, though normally he wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this. 

Killua immediately takes to the adult atmosphere, dragging Gon from where he was admiring a man’s costume. Rightfully so, it was even worse than Leorio’s, a  _ clown _ costume) and Kurapika has no choice. He enters the party and heads straight for the least crowded, least loud place, even though the whole house is bumping with horrible techno rave music. He stands stiffly, unfortunately, witness to Leorio’s poor attempt at grinding and then turning away from the scene in disgust. That alone will give him nightmares even worse than his clan’s massacre. 

The man next to him huffs a laugh and speaks. “Your friend?” he sounds handsome.

Kurapika turns to look at him in full.

He’s standing next to a man… dressed as goth lolita? The man was wearing the most ridiculous boots and ostentatious fur coat he’s ever seen, like a movie villain. He was missing a shirt and had on the largest turquoise round earrings he’d ever seen on another man. What the hell was he supposed to be?

“What the hell are you supposed to be?”

The man chuckles.

His coat shifts. It was at that moment that Kurapika notices and his mind goes  _ red _ . There, on his left pec, that he wouldn’t have known had he not been without a shirt was a spider tattoo, the same 12 legged spider that only troupe members are known to get as a tattoo. It was small as it was inconspicuous but undeniable. It was at that moment that Kurapika shut down, and his willingness to be vaguely cordial to the man left him entirely. 

He sneers in disgust, scoffing.

“What are you supposed to be? A phantom troupe member? How fitting, they are the vilest creatures on the planet.”

At his words, the man  _ smiles _ . 

“Oh? You recognize me?” his glee was palpable.

"Anyone could recognize that tattoo." he spits.

His smile grew wider.

Pissed, Kurapika wanted to cut the stranger down. "The problem is what possessed you to dress as a member of that group. Do you have a death wish?"

He was too amused for his liking. "Not particularly."

"I know it's Halloween but surely there must be a limit."

"Is that so? I didn't get the memo, sorry."

"You could've died. Someone could've killed you thinking you were a real member."

"And you?"

"And me?" he challenges back, glaring.

"What are you supposed to be?" The man asks gently.

He asks with such innocence. He asks as if he already knew the answer. Kurapika feels chills. The thought is suspicious his ancestry is dead to all people but the most expert anthropologists and even then the chance of finding one dressed as a troupe member at a Halloween party is…

"I'm a Kurta." 

To finally say it aloud is so freeing. The man smiles as if he knows what he's feeling but he can't, he can't.

"Is that so? Well, I'm the Spider leader," he says simply.

Kurapika thought he would be angry. Just hearing the words. But instead, he feels very very cold.

"How could you choose to be that for Halloween?" The question feels hollow in his throat. It’s as if his voice is far away, spoken by someone else entirely. He won't believe it, he can't believe it.

How disgustingly insensitive. 

The nerve of this man. To wear something as horrible as a costume of the Phantom Troupe. 

Kurapika’s knuckles whitened with rage accelerating and pulsing through his veins. 

This piece of shit. 

This terrible excuse for a human being. 

Hah, how nice it must be - the filthy murderer of the Kurta was just a Halloween costume to this man, an oooo edgy joke, instead of the real-life nightmare they were to Kurapika. 

“It’s just a costume.” the man replied, clearly amused by Kurapika’s reaction, as if Kurapika was overreacting. And he could just see it now, this man laughing to his friends later on about the overly-sensitive lib kid in the Kurta costume who was clearly a SJW. 

And that was what did it. 

Heart pounding wildly, Kurapika drew his fist back and socked the man right in the nose. A mixture of nausea and triumph coiled in his belly as the man stumbled back with the force of the hit, clutching his nose, eyes blown wide in his head. Good. Kurapika hoped he had broken something. 

Then he turned on his heel, pushing through the crowd of people, not offering the man a single backwards glance.

Muttering angrily under his breath, Kurapika made his way through the crowd, pushing through the mass of writhing bodies, hoping to catch a familiar face (or at the very least, find somewhere to collapse that was far away from that goth douche bag). 

Halfway through the throng, he stumbled, barely managing to catch himself in time. To his shock, there was a body on the floor at his feet. He looked around wildly, but none of the dancers seemed to notice, lost in the heavy beats pumping from the speakers. 

Kurapika eyed the body nervously. It must be a prop. This was a Halloween party after all, and no one seemed to notice or care, dancing around it mindlessly. 

But the longer he stared, the more uneasy he felt. It looked so real. And what a strange corpse it was too - a giant hairy man dressed in a frankly terrible bear costume, with a fur vest thrown over his shoulders and a furry pelt at his hips. It looked like a lazy costume thrown on at the last minute, as if the man had stripped clothes off hangers, tossing them out of the wardrobe in his panic to throw together a good costume. And now here he was, splayed out not unlike a dead fish, eyes wide and unblinking, blood pooling from the corners of his mouth and a wound in his chest.

Shrugging, Kurapika gave the body one last look before heading on his way. 

  
  
  


\-- a Few Hours Later--

  
  
  
  


“Where are your friends?” Kurapika asked, perched on top of a luscious red sofa. 

Friends? Images of 10, or was it 5 people’s faces swarmed into Kuroro’s mind but he balked. He couldn’t seem to remember their faces. He shook these thoughts out of his head. He needed to know.

Kuroro wrinkled his nose, the bodies were difficult to move through. He pushed a rather hard body out of the way and kicked off a stubborn head sludge off his shoes.

“I could ask the same for you,” Kuroro says, peeking a little under Kurapika’s flowy shorts. Long, lean slender legs. Nice.

Kurapika crossed his legs over, giving Kuroro a hard glare and sighs out. Kuroro smoothly sits next to him, ignoring the glare and reaching for the-

Kuroro felt the room growing tiny-the lights were too bright and the world seemed to spin on its axis.

Kurapika turned towards him, his mouth tightened into a hard line. 

“Don’t you feel it too?”

Kuroro nodded. He wasn’t sure what Kurapika was talking about but he could sense it. The way the dead bodies seem familiar and yet distant at the same time. How he can’t recall why he was in this weird mansion (was it? Or was it his home?) in the first place.

Kuroro asked, “Do you remember how you got here?” Because he himself couldn’t. 

Kurapika didn’t answer and kept his face carefully guarded, which honestly was an answer in itself. If he knew how he got to this place there would be no reason to hide it. But if he was as unsure as Kuroro he’d certainly try to hide this alleged weakness. The Kurta was prickly like that.

“Let’s try to find a way out of here,” Kuroro suggested. There was a long time of silence and just as Kuroro thought that maybe Kurapika was frozen in place (why would he think that - did it happen before?), he got up from the sofa with a blatant glare. “You walk in front”

Well, that was a pity. But if it was necessary to create an illusion of safety for the adverse Kurta then Kuroro was willing to walk in front, even if it meant he couldn’t see Kurapika’s legs in those shorts. 

Again, walking through all the corpses was difficult. Kuroro couldn’t remember clearly how they all died either. He thought he could remember them all screaming and just collapsing without an apparent reason, but they’re also was a fuzzy memory of a person … with an axe? … running and slashing through the crowd. Of course, for him, the dead bodies themselves weren’t disconcerting in the slightest, but the fact that his memories were so blurred and unreliable definitely was. 

They entered an empty hallway with no corpses. The sight wasn’t as comforting as it should be. The hallway seemed to expand farther than his sight could reach and there wasn’t a single door. An antique-looking clock hung on the wall, it’s fingers pointing at 00:13. They didn’t seem to move forward. Kuroro turned around to ask Kurapika if he saw the same and caught him staring intently at a single chain dangling from his hand. Kuroro had no idea what the chain was supposed to do, just as the clock didn’t move. When Kurapika felt Kuroro’s eyes on him he glared, then let the chain vanish from his hand.

They continued their way mostly in silence. Kuroro’s attempts at small-talk were rebuffed either with malicious sarcasm or blunt curtness. 

Finally, they reached the end of the hallway. A massive elevator adorned the wall. It clashed conspicuously with the luxury interior and seemed to fit more into a car park than a mansion. Again, Kuroro turned around and again, he was met with a glare. Kurapika was really good at glaring, he couldn’t help noticing. 

“You,” Kurapika started, only to be intercepted by Kuroro. “Walk in front. I got it.”

Kuroro blinked. That was what...

...Kurapika said last time. _Why did I think that?_

The room shuddered and swam before their very eyes.

Suddenly, Kuroro found himself back at the edge of the party.

Fuck.

A time loop. And the timeline had just looped on itself again.

There were even more bodies splayed out on the floor than last time. 

He turned his head, once again spotting Kurapika sitting prettily on the lavish red couch, his shorts riding up his thighs and a tropical drink perched in one hand. Not surprisingly, he looked equally as frustrated as Kuroro felt. 

“Again?” Kurapika muttered, setting the drink aside as Kuroro approached him. 

“Looks like that didn’t work,” Kuroro said, collapsing onto the couch beside Kurapika, who seemed to care less and less with each do-over how close Kuroro got to him. Something like triumph coiled pleasantly in his belly, and he bit down a smirk. 

There was a quiet gasp from beside him, and Kuroro turned to see Kurapika kneeling on the ground over one of the corpses. It was a young man in a horrendous sexy nurse costume, black sunglasses askew (and really, why on earth was he wearing sunglasses indoors?), eyes staring lifelessly up at the ceiling. 

“What’s wrong?” he urged, seeing the terror on Kurapika’s face (it wasn’t because of the ugly costume, even if it was an eyesore). 

For a moment, Kurapika’s mouth opened and shut, nothing coming out. Then he seemed to find his voice again: “I-I recognize him. I’m sure I know him. But I can’t-”

Kuroro’s eyes narrowed, his sharp gaze sweeping across the bloodied dance floor. 

“You can’t remember who he is.” Kuroro finished, eyes narrowing in on a man slumped over the make-shift bar, his hair was black and glossy, tied up into a samurai-style top-knot. And somehow, Kuroro knew exactly what the man looked like when he rolled his eyes, the deep tenor of his voice, and even the sound of his laugh. But he could not for the life of him, tell you who he was. Every time he tried, the memory seemed to slip away like sand in an hourglass. 

“Yes,” Kurapika said, knees trembling as he got to his feet. He seemed hesitant to leave the body there, but they both knew there was no helping any of these people. Not yet. 

“I think I know a few of these people too,” Kuroro said, spotting a black-haired woman slumped over in a chair, her glasses spotted with blood. That was one of them. Someone he knew, yet could not quite remember. 

“If we’re stuck in a time loop, how do we get out… how do we jumpstart the timeline..?” Kurapika mused, talking more to himself than to Kuroro. His silver eyes were narrowed in thought, clearly calculating the possibilities, and Kuroro’s breath caught in his throat at the sight. 

If this was nen, then there was a source. A person causing this. Was it just Kurapika and himself who were affected, if so, why? Were they the targets or just unlucky bystanders caught up in someone else’s trap?

  
  


And why with  _ this _ man, of all people? Kurapika wished he could punch himself in the face. Of all people he could be stuck in a time loop with, it had to be this insensitive jerk whose face was leaving him an unexplainable bad feeling  and who was looking prettier by the minute.

“Well then,” Kuroro said, turning to Kurapika. “Time loops end after we complete a certain timeline. Do you have any idea what that could be?”

“No,” Kurapika replied. He didn’t even feel like arguing with Kuroro about the fact that they were suddenly proceeding on with the mostly fictional idea that time loops end after a certain action. 

Kurapika’s gaze flitted from Kuroro’s calm smile to the faces of the dead bodies scattered across the room. One of them had disgusting empty eye sockets. 

Eye sockets?

Kurapika found himself kneeling in front of the young boy’s body in seconds. This boy...he was wearing Kurtan clothing!

How was that even possible? He was sure that he took all the clothes from the pillaged village on that dreaded night. 

“You know him?” Kuroro appeared from behind him, standing over him with an unreadable expression. 

Kurapika couldn’t help staring at his face, burning Kuroro’s features into his memory. 

Memory… something was wrong with his memory!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC...?

**Author's Note:**

> TBC...?


End file.
